


He Is

by NachtHexe



Series: Ghostly Tales [1]
Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Blasphemy, F/M, One Shot, Religion, Satan - Freeform, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6196276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachtHexe/pseuds/NachtHexe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when the reader is unexpectedly called on by the local priest for a little favour?</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Is

I whistle to myself softly as I walk along the leave covered path, my guitar on my back and folder in one hand. Despite Father Marcus only this morning giving me the notes, I was confident enough in my whistling that I knew the melody.

Usually I wouldn’t agree to this. As a professional I realize the importance of practice. But when Father Marcus called me yesterday, he sounded so desperate. His cousin and her husband were baptizing their first born but the person they got for the guitar had to cancel suddenly. And how could I say no to our only local priest, especially at a time of need?  
And so, I entered the small but all the same lovely chapel, blessed myself and silently made my way to the small podium in the far right, reserved for myself and the choir. I took out the music sheets Father managed to give me shortly after his frantic call and decided to practice it once more. Only then, on my probably twentieth time looking at the notes, did I notice something rather peculiar - they didn’t include lyrics. As an avid and locally known singer my pride was slightly shaken.

But I soon forgot about it about it as people, including the local kids’ choir, started filing in. I stopped playing, and waited respectively for everyone to settle down and let the ceremony begin.

Thus, soon, the church fell silent and still. There weren’t many people either, 15, maybe 20. But I decided not to wonder about why. None of my business.  
Shortly after complete silence fell, Father Marcus came out and did something rather unusual. He started speaking in Latin, which I personally never learned, but the crowd seemed to understand perfectly. Not knowing what else to do, I sat there slightly lost, wondering if my history teacher got all her Reformation facts right.

Father’s speech was pretty short - for a mass anyway. He then nodded at me, a signal we agreed on earlier on that day, and I started playing the gentle but definite melody as the couple walked out of seemingly nowhere, the baby wrapped in white between them. Once they stopped at the alter and turned to face one another, the choir beside me sprang into action.

“We’re standing here by the abyss  
And the world  
Is in flames”

Everyone present, including the parents and the choir, smiled warmly as they heard the first words of the song, but I felt horrified. I wanted to stop playing right there, but felt like it would be somewhat wrong. Yes, it sounded blasphemous, but Father Marcus, though new to the parish, seemed like a good, wise man. Putting my trust in him, I continued the song.

“Two star-crossed lovers reaching out  
To the beast  
With many names”

The urge to stop grew even stronger, as I sensed more and more that something was wrong. And once again Father stopped me - the stare he gave me was indescribable. It gave me chills, looking like he wanted to love me and murder me simultaneously. And he wouldn’t look away, even when the couple decided to, for some reason, start sucking each other’s faces off (pardon my French).  
His gaze becoming unbearable, I looked down on the notes on my lap - and just in time, as the song picked up the beat, fastening up slightly, leading into what I assumed to be the chorus.

“He is, he’s the shining in the night  
Without whom I cannot see  
And he is”

I gulped slightly as I watched the people around me. Was I the only one who saw something wrong with this? The song obviously had some sinister undertone. And yet, I can’t help but continue playing…

“Insurrection, he is spite,  
He’s the force that made me be  
He is…”

I strum away, slowly becoming oblivious of the ritual I’m unconsciously taking part in, letting the music relax me. And relax it did, so much so that I let my eyes close.

“Nostro Dispater  
Nostr'Alma Mater  
He is….”

Despite never reading the lyrics, I start to sing along softly as my fingers continue with the melody. Somewhere, in the distance, a baby cries. But nobody pays it mind as the choir and I fill the wooden walls with our hymn. However, I open my eyes again as another voice joins in : Father.

“We’re hiding here inside a dream ,  
And all our doubts are now destroyed  
The guidance of the morning star  
Will lead the way into the void”

I watch silently as Father’s attire changes. Gone are the pure white garb of a small parish priest. They are instead exchanged for a black and green one , with upside-down crosses all along the front stripe. A tall, pope-like hat with the same design appears on his head. His hands are now clad in leather gloves with sharp, golden nails.  
His face does not change.  
Despite my fascination, I continue to play.

“He is  
He’s the shining in the night  
Without whom I cannot see…”

I feel a presence, though somewhat not physical. No, it feels like something entered me, my mind, my body… Yet, there was no sense of intrusion, no threat. The opposite, actually - the feeling was welcoming, blissful. Suddenly all confusion, fear and worry just washed away. My grin mirrored everyone else’s present. Even the baby, now resting in an empty baptismal font, appeared to be smiling.

“And he is  
He’s the shining in the night, without whom I cannot see  
And he is  
Insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be  
He is  
Nostro dis Pater, Nostr'Alma mater  
He is….”

I watched with glee as more changes started to take place slowly but steadily. The stained glass behind the alter transformed from that of Jesus ascending into heaven to that of a naked couple kissing passionately as a demonic creature embraced them both. The fountain started filling with a thick, white and crimson mixture, soaking the baby in it as the proud parents watched. But the child didn’t cry. It giggled as the liquid started dripping down the nevious marble.  
I was forced to look back down at my notes as a short but beautiful solo kicked in. As I concentrated on the music, I didn’t realize that all the eyes in the room turned black and started at me expectantly.  
I also didn’t realize - despite that feeling of a presence within me growing stronger - that when I looked up my eyes, too, have turned that same pitch black, endless shade.

“He is  
He’s the shining in the night  
Without whom I cannot see  
And he is”

The small chapel started shaking lightly, covering us in dust from the wooden ceiling. The presence grew stronger. The lyrics grew louder.

“Insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be  
He is  
He’s the shining in the night  
Without whom I cannot see…”

Father walked around the alter and down the steps, watching our transformation take place. The kids’ yellow, flowy robes turned to tighter, black tunics with reverted crossed hanging down their necks. Never stopping my playing, I looked down at myself. I too was now draped in an identical cassock. The crowd now wore black and crimson tunics. The couple at the alter, who watched their babe silently this whole time, wore nothing at all. The baby’s once white cloths turned light red due to still spilling contents of the font.  
The rumble and shacking of the building increased as Father started to approach me slowly, like a captor approaching a frightened prey.

“And he is  
The disobedience that holds us together…”

At that moment, Father reached me. I pretended to look down on my sheets, but one of his leather, clawed hands grabbed my chin and forced my head up. Our eyes lock, and I see that the man before me is not Father Marcus.  
The eyes are mismatched, one brown one pearl white, with only the black pupil visible. His face also changed, and I realize that this is certainly no human. His face is expressionless and skeletal, resembling a ghoul more than anything.  
Cracks appear in the floors, walls and ceiling of the chapel as the shaking increases. The building grows dark, the day light disappearing, replaced by a red one, spilling from the cracks in the floor. The light covers everything with a red hue, making the ghastly face in front of me even more dangerous, but also, is a twisted way, more beautiful.

“He is  
Nostro Dispater  
Nostr'Alma Mater”

His apathetic face breaks into a sadistic grin as he sings the last words. I smile in anticipation as his other hand goes to rest on my head, his fingers running through my locks. I join enthusiastically on the very last words.

“And we are falling  
Over the precipice…”

And the last thing I saw before we did were his eyes, that look of love, promise and desire in them. And his hands never left my skin.  
And my fingers never left the strings.


End file.
